I woke up this morning wishing for a bad date. Really. This blog has gotten tres boring, yawn yawn, and I was crossing my fingers for a good story because damn it, we need it. I won’t go so far as to say that I was praying because, ha ha, we all know how I feel about religion. Here’s the rundown.
The date (#6 of my 14 date obligation with “It’s Just Lunch”) was in Bethesda at 1 at Cafe Deluxe with HarleyRider. The hostess informs me that they don’t take reservations so it’s not like I can go sit at “the table” and wait for him to come to me or have him already be sitting there. I have to guess who he might be in the waiting area. And based on their track record, it could really be just about anybody – the guy with no front teeth, the midget, the conjoined twins (although they would probably count that as two dates,) the big fat guy wearing a nametag from his job at Midas. I see this guy at the bar. I’m thinking there is no way it can be the dude because he’s way hot. But at that moment he turns completely around and says my name. And I about died. Fucking finally. Slot machine sound byte please….ding ding ding ding ding.
I sit next to him at the bar and I see that he’s holding a Harley helmet. (Christ, it’s like I’ve now left the slots and just put all my money on the winning number at the roulette table.) He tells me he rode his Harley V-Rod here. (And now I just got 21 at the Blackjack table.) Of course I share my Harley story and all. We go sit down and order, have a fine lunch. Turns out that he also drives a speedracer, also has a Harley and also has a brother living in Michigan. He lives in Rockville and works downtown; I live downtown and work in Rockville. What the hell is going on right now?
After lunch we go out to the parking lot and he’s like, “Want to see the bike?” So I say ok, of course, and we go over there. We’re discussing accessories and all that fun stuff, then the rest of the conversation goes like this:
Him: “So are we going to sit here making more small talk or are you going to give me your number?”
Me: “Uh, I’m going to give you my number.” (Like how I stutter? I’m really not slick.)
(we each take out our phones…)
Him: “Ok, shoot.”
(At this point we each exchange numbers and program them in our phones.)
Him: “Ok, so call me if you want to do something sometime.”
Me: “I don’t call boys. If you want to see me, you have to call me.”
Him: “Can I see your phone for a second?”
I give him my phone. Is he about to erase his number?
Him: “Here, I’m calling myself, it’s about to beep, say hi.” He hands me the phone.
Me: “Hi, I’m standing here with you in the parking garage, so, hi.”
Him: “There we go, now I’ll have to call you back and you won’t have to be the one who called first.”
Is that charming? I think it’s quirky enough to be classified as charming.
Tomorrow I will be meeting R at 7 for dinner. Maybe that can be my trainwreck. Or maybe I’m supposed to be hoping for the best so that the dates turn out horrible. I guess hoping for the worst this morning really slapped me in the face didn’t it. With my damn luck I’ll be hoping for things to go so wrong and I’ll end up married by next Friday. Awww, fuck it. Maybe I should just stop hoping whatsoever.